Class Work
by Channel D
Summary: When Ziva is roped into teaching a sexual harassment/appropriate behavior course at NCIS, she insists on having Tony as her teaching partner. But the class members are more than they expected. One-shot; humor; very light Tiva.


**Class Work**

by channelD

_written for:_ the NFA _Puzzle of My Heart_ challenge. The aim of the challenge was to write a Tiva fic. Since I'm not much of a shipper, consider this Tiva-lite.

rating: T

_pairing_: Tiva

_reference_: The season 4 episode _Driven_

- - - - -

_disclaimer_: I own nothing of NCIS.

- - - - -

"Ziva."

She looked up at the sound of her name. Gibbs was beckoning to her.

Obligingly she went to his desk. Tony and Tim were out in the field, and she had been enjoying the quiet, getting some desk work done. "Yes, Gibbs?"

He gave her a sideways glance, almost a little…apologetic? "Got an assignment for you. We need to have you teach a class, just a half-day thing. You remember the red light/yellow light/green light class we had to go to a few years ago?"

"Yes, unfortunately. Prohibited sexual things and prohibited touching in the workplace. Are you asking me to teach that? I have no teaching skills, Gibbs. What about that woman who taught us?"

"We don't have a budget for the new fiscal year yet, so there's no money for her or other outsiders. Nonetheless, the DoD mandates us to hold this class for all new hires before the end of the calendar year, and we have 10 new hires. So—"

"Why me?" Ziva pleaded, feeling trapped.

Gibbs eyed her. "Can you picture DiNozzo or McGee teaching it?"

"Well…when you put it that way…"

"I'll give you time to prepare. The class will be held two weeks from today."

She looked thoughtful, and then smiled. "I'll need an assistant."

He shrugged. "Okay. Who do you want?"

"Tony," she said, grinning, and even Gibbs laughed.

- - - - -

_Two weeks later…_

"I can't believe you talked me into this, Zee-vah," Tony groaned as he carried a large box of propaganda into the training room.

"I talked you into nothing. Gibbs ordered you to assist me," she corrected.

"Same difference." He set the box down on the front table with a thump.

"Just do as we rehearsed, please." She spoke primly, but deep down she was glad that Tony was here with her. There was a magnetism about him that made her tingle, and the subject of sexual misconduct was just too much fun to pass up. Even if he didn't keep to their script—and she didn't believe for a second that he would—things were bound to be entertaining with him around.

- - - - -

Their ten students arrived promptly at 9 o'clock. There were six new special agents (all assigned to the Pentagon, while four Pentagon agents rotated back to HQ), an Intel specialist, an IT person assigned to MTAC, a mail clerk, and an Information Desk worker, according to the notes provided to Ziva. She glanced at the class and saw in alarm that one of the class appeared to be about 120 years old. Ziva prayed that this was not one of the new agents.

Ziva cleared her throat. It was time to rock and roll over, as the Americans said. "Good morning, class. Welcome to the Sexual Awareness in the Workplace class. My name is Ziva David, and I am a Mossad officer in liaison with NCIS. I will be your instructor today. Assisting me will be Special Agent Tony DiNozzo. Let us go around the room and have you introduce yourselves." In an aside to Tony she said, "And you can mark down who is here."

"Ten signed up for the class; ten seats taken," he murmured back. "Unless you think someone's snuck in to enjoy this?"

"Oh, never mind," she sighed, and beckoned to the 30-ish man in the corner.

"Captain Peter Witherspoon, USN, retired," he said. "I'm a new special agent."

"Thank you, Peter," Ziva smiled. Odd how some people liked to retain titles all their lives. "Yes, you next to Peter?"

"Ricky Platt, Intel analyst." He had an enigmatic smile.

"Kathy Quinones, special agent; formerly with the FBI."

"Hattie Ewing, dear. I work on the Information Desk half days, and since you're all wondering, I just celebrated my 84th birthday," said the old lady. She bowed, a little smugly, to the applause. Ziva and Tony exchanged corner-of-the-eye glances. At least she wasn't really 120. Or a special agent.

"Toy Johnstone," said the beefy man behind Dorothy. "Special Agent." He looked a little bored.

"Irv Nye, IT guy," said the man next to him, with a geeky grin.

"Mercy Quaid, special agent." This one looked to be about 14 years old.

"Caleb O'Connor, special agent."

"Florida Parker, mail clerk."

"Archie Mank, special agent."

"Wonderful," said Ziva. "All right, we are here today to go over inappropriate behavior in the workplace: specifically, inappropriate sexual comments and touching. We can divide these into three groups: green light, yellow—yes?" She paused for the raised hand from Caleb.

"Why don't you use contractions, Officer David?"

"You may call me Ziva. English is not my first language."

"Will you be able to understand our concerns, then?" Caleb persisted.

"You have concerns?"

"It's just that—"

"Listen, buddy; just pay attention to the course," Tony raged. "Ziva knows the subject."

"Tony, I can handle it," Ziva whispered, while a little surprised that he'd come to her defense. "Well then, let us get to the first objective."

"What are we objecting to?" asked Witherspoon, puzzled.

Ziva delivered a mild stare, to see if he was kidding. _Literal Navy men. _"First we will consider items inappropriate for the workplace that, due a sexual nature might make a coworker feel uncomfortable. Like a calendar of pin-up girls."

"We don't have a right to enjoy pictures of pretty women?" asked the IT guy.

"I saw that movie," said Hattie Ewing. "_Delightful_. I'm a big fan of—"

"You cannot display items, whether on your cubicle walls, your desk, or your computer which violate these standards," Ziva said, feeling her patience tried. _How long is it until the morning coffee break??_

"Maybe people need to grow thicker skins," said agent Kathy Quinones.

"Maybe some people need more sensitivity training," growled agent Toy Johnstone.

"Are you sensitive, agent DiNozzo?" asked the young-looking agent Mercy Quaid, hero-worship in her eyes.

"I'll bet you have some illicit pictures somewhere, DiNozzo. You look like the type," observed agent Witherspoon.

"How did this come around to me?!" asked Tony, bewildered.

Ziva clapped her hands, which started half the class clapping as well. "Stop! This is not 'Simon Says'!"

"Where are we in the student guide?" asked Florida Parker, the mail clerk. "I'm lost."

"And I am exhausted already," Ziva whispered to Tony.

"All right! Everyone up for a five-minute stretch break!" Tony ordered. While the rest of the class did so, some running out for the bathroom or a drink of water, Tony and Ziva sagged into their chairs.

"How did that poor lady who taught our class survive?" Ziva moaned in a low tone.

"Our team went out on assignment, remember?" said Tony. "The worst she then had to deal with was Abby and Palmer."

"We have a _whole class_ full of Abbys and Palmers."

When she was just about to call the class back to order, Ziva noticed one extra chair, in the back, occupied. Already stressed out, she marched up to the offender. "Nikki Jardine! What are you doing here?!"

"I heard you were going to be talking about 'touching'," the germ-phobic Intel analyst admitted, speaking through her face mask. "And I wondered if there was something new I should be worried about."

"Get out of here! Go!" Jardine slunk out.

Tony whistled piercingly, and the class members took their seats.

"All right," said Ziva. "We left off—"

"We were going to hear about Agent DiNozzo's pictures," said Hattie, helpfully.

"There are no pictures," Tony snapped.

"Whatever you say, dear," Hattie smiled, and winked at him.

"There. Are. No. Pictures!" Tony thundered. "That would be a violation of NCIS ethical standards!"

"What about the pictures of Officer David in a bikini?" smirked the IT guy.

"_Break time!"_ cried Ziva. "Be back here in twenty minutes. And when I say 'be back', I mean you are to leave the room…_NOW!!!"_ The room emptied quickly.

"I am not paid enough for this," Ziva said to Tony.

"Me, either."

"Do you still really have those pictures?"

"Of course not."

"Good…Of course, when I find them, and I will, I will tear out your liver. The hard way."

"Um…there's an easy way?"

"Is it true that teachers are allowed to drink on the job?"

"Only when the class is not around. I'll get you a fresh bottle of water."

"Thank you, Tony. Maybe I'll let you keep your liver. Is there another organ you would prefer to sacrifice instead?"

"Ah, let me get back to you on that." He left, and she closed her eyes, in hopes of easing the pounding in her head. She heard the plastic cup of water make a light _thonk_ on the desk, and sipped it. _Vodka!_

She smiled up at Tony, who grinned back at her.

- - - - -

When the class resumed, Ziva had Tony pass out new handouts.

"Will there be a test?" asked one student.

"No," Ziva said, and turned to the voice. "Wait a minute—who _are_ you?" He definitely wasn't Florida Parker.

"Florida had a mail room emergency. I said I'd take notes for her. Name's Coleman."

Tony noticed Coleman was wearing an NCIS visitor's badge. "Wait—you don't even work here??"

"Naw, I'm with the United Parcel Service. Can we hurry this along? My truck is running outside."

"Do you have something going on with our Florida?" asked Agent O'Conner.

Coleman only grinned. "Can we get to the part about touching?"

"Would you like me to show you some things, dear?" Hattie volunteered.

"Out! No ringers!" said Tony, and as Coleman left, Director Vance came in and took the seat Jardine had used in the back. It was just as well; had Vance not been there, Tony would have thrown Hattie out, too.

Ziva, unfortunately, wouldn't let it die. "Ms. Ewing—Hattie—you seem to, ah, have taken a great interest in this class."

"Well, dear, they don't put me on the Information Desk for nothing," the old lady said with a delicate laugh. In a stage whisper she added, "Catch me after class and I'll tell you where those bikini pictures are."

"She's bluffing," Tony hissed to Ziva, but secretly he was nervous. And a little thrilled, if he were to admit it to himself.

Aware of Vance's presence, Ziva moved on. "Inappropriate touching can be divided into green light, yellow light, and red light behavior. You must always ask permission from the other party before you touch them."

"Always??" several in the class murmured.

"Yes, always," said Ziva, though her heart wasn't entirely in that. Vance's cell phone rang then, and he stepped out to answer it, for which Ziva was grateful.

"What about hugs?" asked the big, burly agent Johnstone. "I like hugs."

"Not everyone does," said Tony. "You'd be surprised at how many people don't like being hugged."

Johnstone closed his eyes. "I am hugging you all in my mind."

"What about shaking hands?" asked Quinones. "That's less intrusive than hugging."

"Well, what if someone doesn't want their hand shaken?" asked the Intel analyst.

"Is it okay to grab their hand and shake it anyway?" asked Wintherspoon. "In the Navy, we—"

"No!" Tony and Ziva chorused. "Not okay to grab someone's hand."

"What about rubbing noses?"

"What about linking pinky fingers?"

"Patting someone's stomach, affectionately?"

"How about kissing a lady's fingers?"

"Head slaps?"

"Pinching! In my generation—"

"What about firing a shot over their head?"

"Say what??" asked Tony, wearily. "What on earth does that have to do with touching?"

The youthful agent Quaid spoke up. "Can we have a hands-on demonstration?" Several in the class tittered at her choice of words. "Agent DiNozzo, could you show—"

"No," said Tony firmly. "It's all in your hand-outs."

"But I thought this was a workshop," Hattie said, batting her eyes at him.

"Enough about Agent DiNozzo," Ziva said, struggling to regain control and glad that Vance, for some reason, hadn't come back. "This is a serious subject, and something you should all take to heart. The penalty for violations of these standards could be as high as removal from your job, not to mention civil prosecution. Now, turn to the exercises in the back of your hand-outs and work them. All of them. Silently. And no, I will not answer questions." She sank against the blackboard.

Tony beckoned her into the hallway. "Let's get some air."

Once out there, Ziva sighed. "Why did I ever agree to do this?"

"Because Gibbs asked you to, and you saw it as part of your job, under 'other duties as assigned', and, being a responsible worker, you agreed to do it."

"Had I known…"

"You're doing fine. They get the material. They're just a little talkative."

"I'm surprised Vance hasn't come back."

Here Tony grinned. "I texted Probie to call Vance and put him on a wild goose chase. Vance will be busy until noon."

"Why on earth would you do that? To the Director??"

"Because you needed a confidence boost. I didn't want to see his presence rattle you."

"Why?" Ziva felt she was missing something.

Tony scratched his head and looked aside, but he was still grinning. "Because you're so hot when you stand up there, in control of a situation. I love seeing you like that."

She grabbed him then, startling him, with her lips over his; a kiss deep and passionate. Willingly, he gave in, and held her tightly.

A couple of class members peeked around the doorway. "Just as I thought," said Hattie. "These young people can't keep their hands off each other. Sex, sex, sex. Good for them!"

"So that's an 'A' in the instructor evaluation, do you think?" asked Johnstone.

"I'd say so."

If Tony and Ziva heard the comments, they didn't acknowledge them. Kissing was taking all their attention.

-The end!-


End file.
